Stranger in the house
by Archaeologist
Summary: Arthur wasn't about to let an interloper take over his kingdom, not when he was the cat in charge. - Modern AU (Arthur and Merlin as cats)


**Character/s:** Merlin, Arthur (as cats), Gwaine  
 **Camelot_drabble Prompt:** 336 black cat and 338 newcomer  
 **Author's Notes:** I have no idea where this came from. **  
Disclaimer:** Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

My warm lap-slave brings an enemy with him. Into my domain. While I am asleep.

I am dreaming of catching birds and the crunch of their tasty bodies in my mouth, and how my property, he called himself Grrr-wan-ye, a non-furfolk name if ever there is one, would give me treats and long pets whenever I lay my gifts at his feet. I never know what he does with them, but he seems pleased and it is all about the training anyway. He is learning fast about what I like.

In my dream, I am in the middle of marking him with my tongue, giving him a little lick on one ear and then biting down, just to make sure he is paying attention and he knows who owns him and it is glorious. Almost better than that tuna treat he gives me sometimes. And his head nest is tickling me and I am batting the long fur away, but I do not let him get far. My claws are kneading his chest and I am purring because I know he likes it enough to give me even more treats and he is stroking my fur and then I wake to ….

A darkly-coloured freak with blue eyes, and a tongue that is trying to eat me alive.

I must have jumped several tail lengths because next thing I know, I am on top of my lap-slave's head, hissing as loudly as I can. My claws dig into Grrr-wan-ye's bare skin, it serves him right for not warning me as he should have done. But he is complaining about it anyway and trying to reach up and force me down to the danger of the devil at his feet. I howl again at the black-furred interloper, and try to climb back onto Grrr-wan-ye's head.

But he is stronger than I am, and the invader of my kingdom is climbing up toward me and making weird mewing sounds and I find myself on the ground.

Not for long. I am amazing after all, and as if by the force of my innate skills, I am on top of the big wooden box and knocking off Grrr-wan-ye's hard square things, he calls them books which I don't care to know since I can't eat them, but they make satisfactory sounds when they hit the little horror.

The mewling gets louder and my fur is as full as I can make it, but my lap-slave forgets all of his training and has the audacity to push me off – me! With a broom. The indignity of it all!

I am faster, though, and I know all the places to hide, all the places to vomit up my dinner when it isn't to my taste, all the places where I gather my toys and play when my property is asleep.

But he knows all those places, too. He can't reach me although he tries. But I hiss and back up and yowl very loudly to made sure he knows how displeased I am and that there would be retribution. Preferably when he least expects it.

After a while, he gives up and sits down where I had been curled up a few moments before – in the softest corner of the couch, where the sun always is warmest and a place we both know is mine and mine alone - and then he pets the interloper.

He is making cooing noises, too, and that funny kind of sound that he always makes when I've done something brilliant. But he is making them at the foul one instead.

It isn't to be borne.

Quick as I can, I race out, jump over the round clear-like thing that Grrr-wan-ye drinks from, the smell is always awful, and knocks it over. The brown liquid sprays across the couch and onto the floor in a satisfactorily pungent display, but I don't want it anyway so I ignore it, and focus on my enemy instead, swiping one paw, claws at the ready, across the invader's nose.

Then I race back to my hiding place.

There is an acceptable yowl, and a bit of whimpering.

Unfortunately, Grr-wan-ye doesn't accept my clear message about his lack of understanding as to who rules the kingdom. Instead, he cuddles the little one closer and makes more tutting noises.

Does he not understand? Does he think he can get away with trying to ruin everything by bringing in another cat?

I am the one in charge, not Grr-wan-ye, and certainly not a pitiful ball of black fur.

After a while, with much glaring, my tail swishing back and forth in clear annoyance, my property gets up, still cradling that intruder in his arms, and walks into the food area.

I can see him opening a can of my tuna, and the interloper gobbling it up. My tuna, my bowl, my food! How dare the little monster put his scent on my things and Grr-wan-ye is letting him.

Well, two can play that game. I've still something in my stomach and I think a present of half-digested bird would be a perfect present for my wayward property.

It takes a bit of time, but at last, a mess of bones and feathers is right there, right where my lap-slave can see it. Then I back away into my hiding place and wait for the lesson to take hold.

He is still petting the invader, carrying him like the new cat is the ruler and not me, when he comes back in and sees my gift. Stopping, he puts the little fiend down, makes an unhappy noise, and then goes back into the food area for those white absorby things.

Perfect. Now is my chance to let the interloper know who is the ruler of this domain.

I race out again, hissing all the way, my fur making me look twice my size. I jump up on the couch, boxing in the other cat, and scratch at him again, this time my claws tearing at his ear.

He lets out a yowl, the impudent one takes a swipe back as if offended by my magnificence, then realizes his mistake. He backs up into the corner of the couch, trying to make himself look as small as possible.

I go again to hit him, claws aching to damage this interloper, make him understand his place. But he mews again, high-pitched and young-sounding, and I stop and growl my displeasure instead.

Now that he can see that I am most certainly in charge, I look more closely at him. He is half the size of me, clearly younger, and he looks like he would disappear if I look at him sideways. His fur isn't pretty. He looks like he'd been in fights and he seems wet, too, as if he had been out in that rain that is pounding on the glass barrier I can never get past, no matter how much I try.

I stalk closer, my eyes watching for an attack. The kitten is growling, it is amusing to hear because there is fear in his voice, too, and he glares at me a moment before lowering his eyes, and offering his belly in submission.

Good. He knows who is in charge.

With a final swipe - I miss him deliberately, I settle down on the clean part of the couch and stretch out. The place is still warm from my lap-slave's body and I revel in it. As I twitch into a more comfortable position, the little interloper seems to hesitate, then slowly pads over to where I am and lays down next to me.

I will allow it. He is warm and I am king of my domain and perhaps tomorrow, I will teach him how to train Grrr-wan-ye to serve us better.

It is good to be the king.


End file.
